Demi 2: Samui Yoru Dakara
by Petronia
Summary: The sequel to Demi. Now with actual plot, muddled politics and even more muddled computer jargon, disgruntled Wufei and (ifwhen I get around to the next part) Relena.
1. Chapter 1

**Demi 2: Samui Yoru Dakara (Part 1)**

Demi had been on the computer for four hours.

Duo rubbed the back of his head ruefully at the view that presented itself from the kitchen door. Heero had assembled his slim black set-up on the coffee table - which Duo privately thought of more as a chips-and-beer table - and was now seated cross-legged on the floor, typing away while referring to a treeware notebook in his lap. Duo had no idea if the laptop was a ring-binder-sized monster like his Gundam-era Old Faithful, with three-gens-ahead chip architecture and arcanely proprietary OS, but it looked like a clone of it from the outside. A tad overkill for word processing. Duo himself had downgraded to a pretty little Komuro 2MX years ago, and with a bit of judicious tinkering it served his purposes well.

Not that he'd had occasion to touch the machine today. Discounting dinner, Demi'd been hogging the keyboard since his afternoon nap, sprawled on his stomach on the futon sofa with his legs kicking up behind. Despite the posture, he looked like Mini-Heero. An affinity for gadgetry was probably to be expected of their mutual offspring, but still Duo found it obscurely unnerving. Kids that age weren't supposed to have attention spans that long. He wandered over to Demi's side.

"Hey, kiddo. Whatcha doin'?"

"Surfin'," Demi said with conciseness. Duo made to sit down and the boy obligingly wiggled aside to make space. "I made an account on 'nother server."

"That's pretty cool," Duo said truthfully. Affinity for gadgetry indeed. "What's it for?"

"T'keep stuff." Duo peered over at the screen and blinked. A purple blob floated in a virtual display room, bouncing leisurely off the texture-mapped walls. A cow - no. A dinosaur. A purple dinosaur. _What th-_

"See? Look." Demi fiddled with the sensitive roller pad, and the dinosaur hopped vectors to bump into a far corner. It changed color at the moment of impact, flashing yellow and then blue before settling on purple again. "His name's Philbert," Demi said, and beamed up at Duo. Who tried to smile back encouragingly from the depth of his bemusement.

Definitely a longer attention span than he'd had as a kid.

"Philbert, eh? That, uh, that's - that's great. Nice dinosaur name. Philbert rocks. But it's getting kinda late - time for you to be in bed, kiddo, or you'll be sleeping through breakfast tomorrow."

Demi pouted, but slid obediently off the sofa. "'Kay." He padded toward the single bedroom of the rented house on stockinged feet.

"Don't forget to brush your teeth," Duo called after him. "You want some help?"

"S'okay." Duo had discovered in the first week that Demi was both independent-minded and capable of handling most hygiene matters by himself, so he let it go. He couldn't imagine that the scientists had been remiss in the way of training, anyhow - it wasn't their style to coddle any more than necessary. "Oyasumi, Duo-touchan. 'Yasumi, Papa."

"'Night, kid."

"Good night, Demi," Heero said surprisingly, looking up from the screen. Demi disappeared behind the bedroom door, and after a moment Duo heard water running. He sank back on the cushions and glanced over at Heero.

"Clear me up something," he said. "Why the heck are you 'Papa' and I ended up 'Duo-touchan'? You're the Japanese one."

Heero shrugged slightly and turned back to his work. Duo was familiar with that shrug: it indicated that the question at hand was trivial beyond belief, and that he, Heero Yuy, had more practical and urgent matters demanding his attention, such as developing a plan to cripple a nuclear plant. Well, maybe not that anymore, but still

They'd fallen into the old routine of living together without so much as a thought spared. Funny how that worked out. Duo could admit to himself that Heero's asceticism and his own chaos made for an unlikely balance. Not that Heero was a neat freak, he did what was necessary to keep the house going and no more, but he never left much, really, to mark any place as the one he lived in. No changes, no mess, no possessions. Duo remembered gazing at their room during Heero's separate missions, unable to infer from its lines the other pilot's onetime presence, his eventual return

He'd been so brave back then. Quietly brave - really! - sure that weakness took no part in whatever kept Heero at his side. Determined to be laughing, carefree Death, so that it would be his embrace cloaking Heero as he tempted fate once again in Wing Zero. With the result that a good many of the "wrong" words had never passed his lips, even when they'd touched each other, even when Heero - perhaps - would not have heard. Proof positive that Shinigami _could_ shut up when he wanted to.

He'd no more need for that front. Then again, Heero hadn't given anything resembling a sign that he'd like to pick up where they'd left off. He'd slept on the couch since the night of his arrival, leaving the twin beds to Duo and Demi, but just his physical presence in the tiny beach house was playing havoc with Duo's system. Fifteen Duo was not - not anymore - but he wasn't over the hormonal hill yet.

Not necessarily a comforting thought at the moment.

Duo sighed. He slid a finger across the sensopad, and Philbert the purple dinosaur responded by adjusting direction and velocity. It looked like a particularly pointless piece of software, and he wondered why Demi seemed so fond of it. When he couldn't get it to do anything else, his attention wandered.

"Oy, Heero. He-e-ro. Whatcha doing? That like _War and Peace_ or something you're writing?"

Heero's fingers hovered over the keyboard in the minutest of pauses. "I used to think it was just me," he said drily. "But you bother our son almost as much."

"Heero! I'm hurt!" Duo clapped his hands over his heart melodramatically, feeling incredibly happy. He still couldn't get over the casual way Heero referred to "their" son: as if Demi's existence were nothing out of the ordinary. It all seemed too much like a fantasy game of house to Duo, who'd begun wondering when his bubble was going to burst. If it were going to burst. He hoped it never would.

Heero made a dismissive sound, the keyboard clatter starting up again. Duo pulled a loose cushion from the couch and plunked himself down by the adjoining side of the coffee table, all the better to watch him. Watch his fingers dance over his chosen instrument _du jour_, and the absorption in those blue eyes. Surely there was a way to pry boy from screen. Take him for a walk along the beach Chances even were, Heero might be more amenable than he was in the old days.

Not that that would be difficult to achieve.

_"Hey, Heero. Wanna go for a walk?"_

_""_

_"We could head for the beach. It's stuffy in here."_

_""_

_"C'mon, it's a gorgeous night out there. What's the point of renting a house by the beach if you don't take advantage of it? You've spent like the entire day inside, enough is enough. If I stared at a screen that long I'd go blind. I mean, what're they gonna do, fire ya for slacking? Growing boys need their exercise. Whaddya say, Heero? Heero?"_

_""_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Shut the hell up."_

It seemed so real, so blissfully predictable that for a moment he was sure Heero'd heard the imaginary conversation too, and glanced up to share the joke. Heero was, of course, totally oblivious. But somehow that didn't even make a dent in Duo's good humor. He wanted to scoot over and put his arms about the other young man, touch his lips to the warmth of Heero's nape bent over endless streams of data, take comfort in his presence, the half-remembered scent of his skin It was the closest he'd had to a sure-fire distraction tactic, back then. Duo shifted, becoming aware of longing.

"Hey, Heero-"

The phone rang.

_Fuck._

Duo allowed himself a calming breath and got up to answer. Maybe he should disconnect the damn thing. Except it was probably Hilde, back from her Valentine's-Day retreat to Lord-knows-where. Duo figured that was why she hadn't called on the fatidic day to warn him Heero was coming. Unless she'd wanted him to be surprised. Hilde had a robust sense of humor. She was probably chuckling over her impromptu plot at this very moment.

He should disconnect the damn thing.

"Maxwell here-"

"I'd thought you had some honor in you, Maxwell. Not to mention intelligence."

Duo's mind blanked. It wasn't that the voice or the scathing tones were difficult to recognize; it was that they weren't, so to speak.

"_Wufei?_"

"Don't act surprised, it's past time for it. This is a matter of international security, Maxwell! Your idiocy is beyond words. I'm beginning to think you have no understanding of the consequences of your actions. Do you have any idea what the penalties are for this kind of interference?"

Duo brought his jaw up with an effort. "Wu. Wu, I-"

"Marquise said it had to be someone with skills equivalent to ours, but it didn't even occur to me that one of us was responsible! I'll have you know that your senseless little prank rendered invalid two months of set-up-"

Heero was watching him. "Wufei, I don't-"

"-Full complement of Preventers, outside specialists, all thrown off. And it's likely now that they've discovered our trace because of your cowardly actions. How are you going to answer for any retaliatory measures they deploy? You've caused all of us to lose face! The sheer irresponsibility-"

Duo didn't know if he should laugh or cry. "_Wufei._ Wu. What'd I do?"

"You know very well what you did!"

"Um no I don't?"

Some of the sheer pathos in Duo's voice must have carried over the line. Wufei snorted, but his next words were delivered at a pace somewhat short of rant.

"It's no use trying to deny anything - you left a clear trail. We have you pinned down on three ends by cybersector, geostational satellite and hardware identification. Komuro Twomix, three years old, last official upgrade three months ago, your name's on the register. You used to be less incompetent, come to think of it. Maybe you'll tell me you were drunk." Pause. "Maxwell."

"Yeah," Duo responded automatically, but he'd missed the last half of Wufei's speech. _Komuro 2MX_ He glanced over at the cute little laptop, Philbert still drifting majestically across the screen, and a seriously queasy feeling began to build in the pit of his stomach. "Um, what did I - I mean, what am I supposed to have done with my computer?"

Heero watched Duo a moment longer, then got up, crossed over to the phone stand and hit the intercom button. Wufei's impatient voice rang out from the tinny speaker.

"_Assuming_ you keep up with the media, Maxwell, you'd have heard of the Aeonist group that claimed responsibility for the bombing of the Planetary Economic Development Board central building in Stockholm. Terrorists who use dishonorable tactics in pursuit of their ideology, nothing more, but very well-organized. We managed to localize their home base and major nexus of support in Southern Europe, and were trying to tap into their database to find out more, but your little impromptu hack ruined all of that. Not to mention tying up the entire local-access network with this ridiculous, disgusting - what the hell _is_ this? This lizard are you still there?"

"No. I mean yes. Yes, I'm here. Oh God." Duo found the support of the wall. "Wufei. Wu-man, that wasn't me, I swear it, I didn't know, I wasn't using the thing-"

"Well, who the hell was it then?"

"My-" Duo stumbled to a halt. He was suddenly aware that the words "my son" at this juncture - on a long-distance line with an irate Wufei whom he had last seen all of six months ago, at which point Duo had been strikingly son-less - would be to a can of worms what Deathscythe Hell was to an action figurine. He didn't even want to think about what "Heero's and my son" would provoke in the Chinese ex-pilot. "That is-"

Heero reached out and plucked the phone out of Duo's hand. "Wufei," he said into the mouthpiece.

Wufei said something in what - to Duo's ears, over the intercom - sounded like Chinese.

Impolite Chinese.

There was another pause.

"Yuy? Damn." Not however accusingly, more as if Wufei were coming to an urgent and - Duo realized sinkingly - probably incorrect understanding. "What were - no. Enough of this. I'll send a chopper over; we've got you posited by satellite. Stay where you are." The line went dead with a click.

Duo stared at Heero, who was advancing toward the guilty computer. "He's sending a chopper over."

"I heard." Heero set the phone down and tapped at the sensopad. The view shifted, and happy, tinkly music began to play over the speakers. "Sloppy covering his tracks," he muttered.

"Sloppy-" Duo stared. "Heero, he's _three_. He's - how in the name of french crisps did he hack into the Preventers' network?"

Heero was typing into the keyboard. "I don't know."

"You don't know."

"He logged off when you told him to - this is just a shell." Tap, tap. "It'll take me some time to recons-"

"_You_ don't know." Duo covered his eyes with one hand and let himself fall into the sofa cushions with an _oomph_. "You know, I'm getting a really ungroovy vibe from this, Heero-man"

There was no answer from the erstwhile pilot of Wing Zero. After a minute or so of the happy jingle Duo realized he wasn't registering keyboard sounds and peered up.

"Heero?"

Heero was staring at the screen, his features bathed in fitful green light. It took Duo a moment to realize that the flicker came from data rolling up the screen. Lots of data.

"Um"

Heero hit Destroy and stood. "Wufei's men should be here any minute. Get your things together. I'd like some questions answered."

Duo gazed, open-mouthed, as he disappeared into the bedroom.

* * *

_--Montreal, February 2000_


	2. Chapter 2

**Demi 2: Samui Yoru Dakara (Part 2)**

The basement of Di Cecilia was wide, low-ceilinged, and somewhat damp. It had obviously begun life (if that was the word) many centuries since as the antechamber to a familial or convent catacomb, complete with bas-relief'd buttresses and pillars carved out of the living rock. The architectural style guaranteed the persistence of gothy shadows, which clung to the corners despite whitewash and office-style wall-to-wall carpet that curled where it met the molding. The floorspace was presently filled with rows of cafeteria tables piled high with machines: computers and servers and grey switchboxes sprouting festoons of cables. Someone enterprising had gone about duct-taping these last to the floors so no one would trip.

It was, reflected Duo Maxwell, not unlike a bureaucratic depiction of Hell.

Chang Wufei and Zechs Marquise awaited them in the center of the room. Duo thought their uniforms looked fresher than they: stray wisps had come loose from Wufei's ponytail, and even the perpetually inpeccable Peacecraft eldest arbored smudges of shadow under his eyes. Evidently the Aeonist mission was taking a toll.

Not that Duo himself felt any better. He must be getting old - a mere five-hour nighttime airlift during the war wouldn't have taken the stuffing out of him this way. But then, the price was small compared to some of the dues he'd had to pay in his life. He'd accepted it readily, known that peacetime would rust the skills he'd never need again, he hoped he'd-

And suddenly, despite the fatigue, that itch was there. Deathscythe.

_Shit_

The two Preventers who'd shown them in saluted their commanders smartly, and melted into the hubbub of their peers. Marquise gave a nod. "Yuy. Maxwell. It's been some time."

"Saa ne" Heero was silent, a wary presence at Duo's side. _Natsukashikute_ just like in the bad old days, damn him. He probably hadn't lost a skill to speak of, either.

Wufei's gaze snagged on the flannel bundle of small boy in Duo's arms. "What is _that?_" He half-snapped by way of greeting.

Duo, knowing better but too tired and annoyed to care, rearranged his features into a display of devil-may-care amusement customized to tweak maximum irritation from Wufei. "He's your perp, Wu-man."

"My what?"

Duo tapped his slumbering son on the shoulder. "Demi. Kiddo. Wake up n' meet your Uncle Wufei. Chang Wufei, Demi - er - Maxwell-Yuy. Our son. Tell me you're not delighted."

Marquise raised a blond eyebrow, but said nothing. Duo was suddenly reminded that he was Heero's ex-brother-in-law (weird!). No help for that now; the cat was out of the bag. He knew from the movement in his arms that Demi was awake.

"Say hi to Uncle Wufei and Uncle Zechs, kiddo."

"Hi, Uncle Wufei. Hi, Uncle Zechs," Demi repeated obediently, adding as if on afterthought, "Nice t'meet you."

Duo half expected Wufei to blow up, but the Chinese Preventer merely stared at them with the most inscrutable expression on his face.

"Wu?"

"This isn't a joke," Wufei said flatly.

"Wufei, I wish I were other than utterly seri-"

"I _know_ this isn't a joke, Maxwell. You're not _this _imaginative. I'm still waiting for an explanation."

"I'd rather they save it," said Marquise. Duo turned, startled. "Our servers are locked, and chances are five-to-one that the Aeonists have detected us and are attempting a trace. Time is of the essence. I'd be delighted to hear the story once we're not a standing target for discovery."

Heero spoke for the first time since the beginning of the exchange. "Time?"

"Twenty minutes, projected. We left loose ends; the way the hack interrupted procedures was inelegant."

Heero turned, scooped Demi out of Duo's blanketed arms and marched off in the direction of most server racks per cubic meter. Duo blinked once in surprise - which put him a second behind Wufei and Marquise, both of whom had reached Heero by the time he'd dropped Demi into a bucket seat before one of the terminals.

Philbert the purple dinosaur was floating merrily on the screen.

"-tablish perimeters," Heero was saying. "Exactly as you proceeded earlier this evening through the firewall, but in reverse." Pause. "You have twenty minutes. Do it."

"I did't in two hours," Demi said.

"You don't have two hours."

Heero was using his mission voice. Duo opened his mouth and shut it again, because Demi didn't look in the least bewildered or intimidated. In fact, he didn't look as if he knew he was in trouble at all, and Duo wondered if he should clear up the point for him.

Wufei made a sound through his teeth. "Yuy, whatever you th-"

"J'you have passwords?" said Demi. Wufei stared at him.

"What?"

"Oh-one to oh-five, _kibou197,_" Marquise said. He met Wufei's stunned gaze coolly. "Oh-six and oh-seven, _vereiteln._ Main firewall, _zhengyi._ Zed-aych-ee-en-gee-why-aye." Demi began to type.

"Dammit, Marquise, that was third-level-"

"We have next-to-nil chance of bringing the situation under control within the requisite timeframe, and you know it as well as I do. If Heero will insist on a child's skills instead of his own, then so be it. _Vereiteln_ with a _v_ Demi."

"'Kay..."

Eventually they fell silent as virtual lockers opened, and screens careened past at dizzying speed. At four minutes down Wufei muttered to Marquise, "Were you at all aware of the existence of that partition?"

"It must be an artefact of the former OS."

"That is to say, no."

"I'll have a memorandum sent around."

At seven minutes down Heero said, "You didn't clear the v-registers completely."

"Oops," said Demi. Duo detected no hitch in the flow of information across the screen; he sighed and sank down onto the nearest cafeteria bench.

How many years? Four? Five? Since before he and Heero had parted ways - not all that long, in the scheme of things. Maybe the feeling would die for good yet. It had been harder on Wufei than it had been on him. He'd put it from his mind almost immediately, concentrated on getting on with his life. Succeeded in doing so. Just these lapses, every once in a while when he was tired or stressed out. Just lapses.

The problem was physical: the scientists had built the Gundams to be part of them. Bloody ineffable wisdom, that. Pilots on the one hand like any poor sod in a refurbished Leo, and on the other on the other. His very soul given over when he was strapped into that cockpit, his very name gone. _Shinigami._ Extensions of his own flesh in gleaming alloy sable and silver and explosive power of star-engines, thermic weaponry superheated to incandescence. It had been sweet, like breathing, like making love. How long had it been anyway?

The flesh held its own memory

At nine minutes down he realized Demi's chest was level with the keyboard, turned to look for a cushion of some sort to raise the kid's seat and found that they'd attracted a growing ring of Preventer officers.

"Don't you have terminal banks to tend or something?" he said to the nearest one, who looked somewhat embarrassed at being addressed.

"Er-"

"To stations," Wufei said briefly, glancing behind him, and that settled it.

At ten minutes down Duo found a stack of old telephone annuaries that at least put Demi at proper typing distance. At eighteen minutes down-

Cries of relief went up across the control center. "Network re-established sir! Access normalized!"

"Proceed with countermeasures as outlined in Three-B," said Wufei. He glanced from Duo to Heero, then down at Demi, and visibly revised what he was going to say. "Yuy. Maxwell. Ah-"

"Briefing," Heero said curtly, and Duo suppressed a wince. _Geez, he sounds like a situational relapse on two legs_

Of course, Duo himself was just the same, wasn't he?

He felt suddenly, obscurely angry. Once an omnicidal Gundam pilot, always - no. The war was plenty over. Maybe if they got out of the bloody federated peacekeeping force's terrorist unit headquarters, he'd stop wanting his hands on Deathscythe's controls _now._

Maybe if his little boy hadn't held said terrorist unit hostage for goddamn six hours and a half. And then solved the problem in eighteen minutes.

What the hell just happened?

"Right," he said aloud. "Right. However, I don't think you need the kid until morning. Not physically. How about it? Do I get to put my three-year-old to bed?"

Wufei stared at Duo as if the idea had never occurred to him, which it likely never did. "Need a woman," he mumbled finally, seemingly half to himself.

"What? Wu-chan, you didn't jus-"

Wufei turned and scanned the room. "Schopenhauer!"

As Duo watched, a young blonde detached herself from the gaggle of officers and approached them. "Sir?"

"Show Captain Maxwell upstairs. And rouse up some coffee while you're at it."

* * *

About the second thing she said was, "Please, just call me Liesl."

They were wending their way up the basement stairs, which were narrow, winding, uncomfortably steep and _stone_ - the concept of renovation, not to mention elevator installation, seeming anathema to Old World villa-owners. Duo thought that such an offer was unusual, coming from an on-duty Preventer: they struck him on the whole as serious, buttoned-up types, which meant that Wufei probably had no trouble fitting in. Still, there was an air about the young woman which made "Lieutenant Schopenhauer" a little ridiculous. The blond corkscrews, perhaps, or the amiable but slightly confused expression that her dewy blue eyes arbored (Duo suspected) in perpetuity.

"Duo," he reciprocated, wondering what she was doing in the army. But then, he knew better than to judge on appearance. Oh looky there, the bouncy kid with the girly hair across the aisle is actually a _terrorist_

"I'm sorry about the stairs," Lieutenant Liesl said brightly, interrupting his train of thought. "It's just that there isn't much room."

"Huh? Oh no, just any bed is okay real-"

"I mean, the first floor is all security and the second's filled already with personnel. We have the equivalent of an entire squadron on this mission, although Commander Marquise pulled half from special reserves and tech units. I think there's a couple of bedrooms left on the third - Commander Chang told me to take care of assigning quarters -"

"Sounds like him," Duo said vaguely. The young woman never even marked a pause.

"Thank goodness the house is so big. It's really a lovely place. Villa di Cecilia, it's called, after some saint or other I think, it was a convent once. There used to be servants but they didn't have clearance of course so we had them sent home - most of them anyway - some of them seem to have been part of some paramilitary force before pacification but I haven't really been briefed about that-" Demi stirred in Duo's arms, already sleepy again, and the officer's chatter switched tracks abruptly. "Oh, he's so adorable. I love children. Isn't his mother here, though?"

"The mother's kinda not in the picture," Duo said, too tired to think. Lieutenant Liesl's blue eyes widened.

"Oh, the _dear_ child. Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Maxwell. Duo."

Duo sighed. He wanted to go home: ASAP as of this moment, with his son, with the man who was the _other_ father of his son. He wanted one-on-one time to work on the terminology of that last, and he wanted quiet. It wasn't coming.

He had a nasty feeling his bubble had already burst.

* * *

_--Montreal, June 2000_


	3. Chapter 3

**Demi 2: Samui Yoru Dakara (part 3)**

"More coffee, Duo?" said Quatre.

"Thanks." Duo smiled wearily and extended his porcelain thimble of a cup for the proffered refill. It was a minor peculiarity of Quatre's that - although he took tea and scones in a manner that would not have been frowned upon by a Victorian matron - in matters of coffee he reverted to the Maganac's black sludge cut with sugar syrup. Duo considered the stuff barbaric, in the same way as a brickbat to the back of the head was barbaric, but it was just as effective. Right now he wished the cups were bigger.

When the ex-pilot of Gundam Sandrock had appeared five hours ago in the control room (followed shortly by Trowa, a small contigent of Maganac and a man in a starched collar wheeling coffee so strong it had transcended liquidity two distillations ago and wouldn't have fallen out if you'd turned the pot upside down), Duo had asked in astonishment, "What the hell are you doing here?"

To which Quatre had responded imperturbably, "I live here. I own this house."

And Duo, finding no quibble with that statement, had drunk the coffee - several cups of it - as they'd gone through the sorry business of briefing Wufei about Demi's existence. It had served to defer the debt of jet lag worsened by lack of sleep, but Duo sensed interest compounding. Heero didn't even look tired. But since when did Heero ever look tired?

There _was_ a quibble, of course. The house was no house. Duo hadn't gotten a good look at it from the outside, what with night and helipads and all, but he thought "palazzo" was more descriptive. He'd left Demi floating in a four-poster that was a veritable sea of duvet, and only Liesl Schopenhauer hovering by the door had prevented him from kicking off his shoes and joining the kid. He was still looking forward to it.

But at this rate-

"Listen," he said, taking a sip. "Scout's honor that's all we know. You wanna get in touch with ol' Jekyll and Frankenstein, you're real welcome to it. I mean, I called G myself before we hopped your chopper, but when it comes to changing his cel number the dude thinks the war's still on. I wouldn't mind some answers myself."

"Maybe it's to be expected of Demi," Quatre pointed out. "Considering your and Heero's talents. There are musical prodigies."

"Musical prodigies don't disable government servers," Wufei said flatly.

"Shit, Wu-man-"

"He's not being accusing," Zechs said, giving Wufei a look. "Maxwell. Heero I'm going to ask you to remain with the team for a couple of days, at least until we take appropriate measures to obtain more complete information and make an assessment. If you wish, I'll have your amenities sent for."

Duo stared at him, then sighed. "Appropriate measures, huh?"

Zechs nodded. "Here until the day after tomorrow, and then Shanghai."

"Shanghai? What the hell are you people gonna do in _Shanghai?_"

"The United Veterans' Conference," Heero said. "The next most likely target. We can take care of ourselves, Zechs."

"I don't doubt it. But I need to know if this should be considered an isolated incident." Duo spluttered.

"Dude, it won't happen again! We're gonna monitor his online activity, okay? What do you want me to say, that we'll keep our son away from computers for the remainder of his minority?"

"If it were only _your_ son," Wufei muttered.

"What?"

"Maybe they're in Rio," Trowa said from Quatre's other side. Duo gaped at him: he hadn't spoken in three hours.

"Rio," Quatre echoed in a tone of dawning realization. "They might be, Trowa. I didn't think of it."

"I'll get a line in," Trowa said, and the 3D display unfolded over the table at his touch on the sensorpad. Duo took a measured gulp of coffee and spoke evenly.

"_Who_ might be in Rio?"

"Dr. J and Professor G," Quatre elucidated. "I lent S my house there a couple of months back, for a conference on computational biometrics. It's supposed to be held this week."

"Oh." Duo considered. "Well, that could be why he had his voice mail playing 'Girl From Ipanema.' How many houses do you own again, Quatre?"

Quatre smiled serenely and refilled their cups.

A few seconds later

"Whozzat boy? Jay, ye wants, is it? Jay?"

"Yes, sir, Dr. J." Quatre reiterated, raising his voice for the benefit of the handlebar-mustached (and apparently hard-of-hearing) conference attendee whose hologrammed bust was presently floating above the table, caught in flickering display lasers. Also to drown out the hollow din echoing from the other end of the line. "I'd like to speak to him, it's a matter of national security. Or perhaps if S is there, I could ask him if he's atten-"

"Hold on, boy, hold on. Give me a second here." The presumed scientist put a hand over the mike and turned to yell into the dimly-represented space behind him. "Jay! Jay there? It's one o' ye boys on the line! Says it's a security issue!" There was a spate of loud, cackling laughter, and some hooting. Glass clinked.

_"Se-cur'ty? Tell'em to shove it! I got the joint set up better n' new, they won't even be able to FIND the hidden cameras!"_

_"Yeah, like in Penelope Albinotti's water closet, ya old letch!"_

_"Are you blaming me for her setting up her hydropones in her shower? Lemme get a piece o' that formula, and-"_

"No, doc, no! _Na_-tional security! Did ye build a Gundam or didn't ye? Excuse me a moment, me boy." The mustache disappeared off the edge of display range. There was more raucous laughter in the background, and someone put on a scratchy version of "Chattanooga Choo-Choo." Zechs winced visibly; Wufei scowled.

"I thought you said scientific conference."

Quatre shrugged and forbore from answering.

"Well, now, well. Whazzis?" The familiar claw skittered its way into the picture, fiddling with unseen buttons on the console. The background noise died down, replaced by static fuzz and the sudden, amplified echo of J's rasp. "If it isn't the Meteor Boys. What truck have you with these ol'bones?"

Heero stood, stepping to Quatre's side. "Dr. J," he said quietly.

"The same." J pushed at the shades over his eyes with one stainless-alloy spoke, and his smile showed teeth. "How's the child, Heero? Haven't misplaced him, have you?"

"He's safe," said Heero. "We'll like to keep it that way. It would be easier, however, if we knew what to expect."

"What to expect? You expect a small boy, Genetic-Provenance. They sleep a lot and feed easy, and you keep them from playing in the street. There's not much to it, cast your mind back. Or?" J waggled his head from side to side. "Ara, such a serious meeting. Preventers and the whole nine yards. What's wrong, he hacked your firewall and made you botch a mission?" His cackle filled the conference room.

"He's System Second Level," Heero said. "The old System. I want to know what you did to him. What you tampered with." Duo, more attentive than he himself realized, saw that Heero's hands were clenched on the edge of the table, the knuckles white. But J only snorted.

"What I tampered with? Try 'everything', bo-yu. I'll like to see you and that Braided Wonder of yours come up with him through Lamaze." Zechs gave a sudden, convulsive cough, but J didn't falter. "Developmental neurology, Heero. Infancy and early childhood. Don't think I run a daycare; I take my test subjects as I find them. Who are you to complain? Your contribution to the scientific process limited itself-"

"If you put him through that" Heero took a deep breath. "That _thing_ no child should have to-" J waved his claw impatiently.

"Think, bo-yu, think. Think! You can't even _strap_ anything under the age of four into the System. I designed it for you, you know. Do you realize how long I'd have to hear from that senile prattler G if I'd broken anything? Not to say the basics aren't much like the programs you're familiar with, but I modified them. Much less rigorous. The child didn't even perceive it as training. Quite fascinating, actually. The neural-synaptic building process at that age" J shook his head, clucking.

"Did you try it on any other children?" Heero asked evenly. Duo's eyes widened.

Other children?

J regarded him, and grinned. Not a nice grin; it produced silence around the conference table. In the background the stereo warbled, "When the moon hits yer eyes like a big pizza pie"

"Now we're touching on trade secrets," J said finally. The grin hadn't left his face. "I wouldn't worry on't too much, Heero. I never pushed his limits, and he's too old for it now. He'll never be able to do anything you can't. Nor could any other child through the new method."

Wufei said something in Chinese that sounded like a soft snarl.

* * *

After Trowa closed the connection, they sat for a while in silence. Wufei had broken into the conversation then, demanding details - but he'd only been angry in the impossibly polite manner Duo knew he tended to reserve for the scientists, and so had gotten nowhere. The Gundam Group had refused to make their files available under far greater duress, and Duo wasn't sure that they didn't keep half of it in their heads anyway.

"Hell," he said finally, rubbing at his temple. He looked up at the Preventers. "Don't tell me. Not your best-case scenario?"

"It's a time bomb," Wufei gritted. "There's potentially any number of these children out there."

"We don't really know that," Quatre said. "I'm sure Dr. J took care to have proper controls in place."

"Are you going to leave it up to them?"

Quatre smiled faintly. "I thought we did that for years during the war, actually. I don't know about you, but I didn't understand _every_ detail of how Sandrock ran."

Zechs sighed. "Nevertheless Heero, Maxwell, this has become a security issue for both you and the Preventers. Perhaps more so for you, in fact. If intelligence of such technology leaks out to the breakaway groups we're dealing with, they'll think nothing of trying to co-opt it."

"What? By stealing Madhouse J's proprietary Hooked On Hacking method?"

"Yes. If their timetable presses, by going after Demi. Children of that age are malleable to any given goal."

"They won't get far."

Heero's tone was as definitive as any _nimu ryoukai_. Zechs gave him a careful look, and Duo was sinkingly certain he knew what the blond commander was trying to gauge. "The best time to quell disharmony is before it appears-"

Duo groaned. "Oh, no. No, no, no. No _Art of War_ before breakfast, Marquise, I can't deal with it."

"Maxwell-"

"Marquise. Amigo. Listen. By tomorrow morning we are going to be gone. You know where to direct your inquiries; we're taking our kid home. I have a lease and standing arrangement to get my groceries delivered. I mean, I'm sorry for the crap that happened and I apologize, but just because J pulled this hat trick instead of O or somebody doesn't mean Heero or I have to help you clean up after him." Duo shook his head. "Shit, dude, look at your set-up. Do you even _need_ our help?"

"What if we do?" Zechs folded his hands on the table. "What if I told you that we need all the help that we can get."

Heero shifted. "What?"

"We've been having the media play it down," Wufei said. "Down, Yuy - so if you read the coverage you can multiply it in your head. Barton and Winner aren't here just because we're borrowing real estate."

"The Aeonists have backing, we're sure of it. Their team is too well-prepared." Zechs glanced at Duo, and back at Heero. "This room contains - what? - two individuals with the second-highest electronic B&E proficiency in the solar system. Counting Demi, three. Three more at the third-highest level. The projections that came in tonight indicate that the Aeonists have either five fourth-levels or two third-levels." Duo raised his eyebrows.

"Who's first?"

Wufei jerked a thumb at Heero. "We modeled his reaction time after the war and used it as absolute zero."

"Oh."

"Unfortunately, Wufei and I have to coordinate, which means we don't work frontline," Zechs said. "And pulling in Noin and Sally constitutes its own danger when we can't predict the opponent's strikes. We still have the advantage of manpower, but not communications - and they know far more about us than we do about them. All we have at this point are educated guesses."

"Fourth-level training means at least Colony Resistance," Trowa added in his soft, precise voice. "Third-level means ranking former OZ, White Fang, or possible breakaways from Mariemaia."

"Cue political sensitivity," Wufei said sourly. Duo cursed under his breath.

"Listen, guys, will you get this through your head? This isn't my job or Heero's anymore. It's your job. Our job, part of it, is to raise Demi to be an upstanding peacetime citizen, and chasing after terrorists is not going to achieve that. In fact-" Duo felt stirrings of the obscure anger that had threatened him the night before, and put a name to it- "it's going to hinder it. After what all of us have been through, you want me to bring my son into proximity with this kind of work? Would you if you were in my shoes?"

There was a long pause. Then Zechs said quietly, "my sister is one of the organizers of the conference."

For a fleeting moment Duo thought Zechs was merely admitting that he had a personal basis for his worry - then he glanced at Heero and realized that he was wrong.

Zechs was hauling out the big guns.

Silence descended again. Duo wanted to yell in frustration - _what happened to honor in battle, Marquise!_

but he couldn't.

Because he knew, looking into Heero's eyes, that he'd been defeated decisively at the first pass.

Heero stared at the tabletop. Finally he said, "In essence, you want someone second-level or higher on communications. To break their cell."

"Neither more or less, yes."

"You're not using Demi," Duo stated flatly.

"No." That response was at least immediate. "The question is ethical: the child's a child. To have your expertise on hand would be a great help, of course."

Heero was quiet. Then, "Did you inform Relena?"

"She refused to reschedule."

Heero nodded as if he'd expected such an answer. "All right," he said. "Shanghai. I'm going to go check on Demi."

Duo stared after his back as he left the room.

* * *

_--Montreal, November 2000_


End file.
